


At the End of All Things

by Sorayeth



Category: Seto Kaiba - Fandom, Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 08:40:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15968756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorayeth/pseuds/Sorayeth
Summary: Seto says good-bye.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I suppose I should explain a few important, but not critical details for this story. In this story, Mokuba is now a young man, aged in his mid twenties, and Seto is in his early thirties. There is a seven year age difference between the brothers. I have taken some liberty with the medical details, but I wrote the original version of this story when a loved one was battling a terminal illness. I hope that you enjoy this. Thank you.

Kaiba-  
Fading-  
It was a rather humiliating, silent ending, for such a dramatic life, Kaiba, thought idly, as his lips pulled back in the old gesture of scorn.  
His youth had been blazed away with his dramatic, phoenix-like surge of fire to the top, to the highest glass tower, to the pinnacle, where he could stare down with the cool regard of a god. For thirty-eight years, he had slaved and sweated, and guarded his riches like a dragon hording its gold. But, all of his riches could not buy him one more breath, one more day of life, one more time to make anything right. The diagnosis of the lung cancer had effectively brought the brute will that marked his days into tortured, unwilling submission. He may have been able to fight dragons with those eyes, stare defiantly at the world, and laugh, but when his own mortal flesh started to fail, he realized in the most humiliating way that he was with a shock, human.  
His eyes strayed to the metallic gleam of the silver IV pole, and trailed down the slender tubing that was discretely hid by the sleeve of his business shirt. Yes, weak, sick, bed-ridden, and now, dying, Kaiba refused to submit the indignity of a hospital gown, and because of his wealth, he was fairly insulated from dying in a hospital room. Here, in his plush office, he was maintained by a trained nurse, and an on-call , there were reminders of his impending demise. The wheel-chair when his legs failed him. The steadying stream of morphine to keep the pain in check. The pinched, weary surrender of Mokuba who had to bite back the rebuke that Kaiba was straining himself. Kaiba allowed himself a smile at the brief memory. Mokuba had grown into a tall, slender young man, with the same dark eyes and open curiosity. When Kaiba was diagnosed, Mokuba insisted on dropping out of the university to come home and care for his brother. Pride would have prevented Kaiba from admitting that he even needed the help, but Mokuba-so far-was the only one who was successful at navigating the complicated maze of Kaiba's changing mood swings, and what was left of his fiercely cherished independence. But, Mokuba was firm, and kind, and even now, there was nothing that Kaiba would refuse his little brother.  
So, now, Kaiba was left, staring at the blinking light of his computer screen, the tension of unresolved questions surging through his veins, his mind feeling like a caged tiger in his trapped body, and his regrets kindly nagging at what was left of his lagging energy. With a grimace and supreme effort, he shrugged aside the trembling exhaustian that gripped his shaking hands and continued hammering out his last will and testament.  
It was a grim task, an unpleasant one. But it was therapeutic and soothing, to see that the years he had invested in KaibaCorp had manifested into fruition with the glittering sky-scrapers, the power, and the awe of his reputation. Mokuba would be set for life.  
Kaiba smirked, wryly as he tapped out the last of his assets. He was leaving a sizable gift to Domino City Hospital,a major grant to research cancer.  
He had left a sizable scholarship for the children of his employers, bulked their retirement funds, and guaranteed their security for life, as well.  
He supposed it was the least he could do for all the times he made them wet their pants in fear when he so much as raised an eyebrow in disapproval. He allowed himself a brief chuckle. He may not even have the ability to rise and walk across the room without assistance, but he could still glower well enough to scour paint from a car door.  
He recalled those first, bleeding days when he found out that he was terminally ill. The doctor had been so annoying kind and coddling, dancing around the central issue of how many months Kaiba had left. It took all of his strength he had not to beat the answer out of him, and it was only Mokuba's shaking hand fisted into his shirt that stopped him, with a wordless plea from those dark, beseeching eyes.  
Kaiba sunk back into his chair, powerless. The doctor uncertainly offered a few options...chemotherapy, a transplant, medical treatment that Kaiba balked at, when he considered the insult to his dignity, his self control, and his fierce independence. Kaiba flatly refused them all when he astutely deduced that they were nothing more than delaying tactics, with folded arms, and a snarl.  
Mokuba attempted to reason with him, only to be presented with Kaiba's back as he strode out of the doctor's office in long strides, and a quivering sick feeling that rattled him to the core. Vulnerability.  
He had blindly, instinctively marched to his car, slid himself in the front seat, with the intention of driving away, only to find himself staring in helpless paralysis at the steering wheel.  
Mokuba was the one who found his big brother, slumped over in the seat, sobbing, and shaking, as if there was a war marching through his body.  
Blindly, Kaiba gripped him in the fierce embrace, the tears wetting his shoulder, as Mokuba said nothing but held him, as his own tears flowed.  
There were no words spoken. None needed to be. Then, as casually as usual, Kaiba abruptly dropped the embrace, ordered Mokuba to buckle his seat belt, and decide where they were going to eat dinner. Mokuba offered a quick suggestion, astonished at Kaiba's returning self control, but unwilling to embarrass him by discussing his breakdown a few moments before.  
But that was six months ago. Even though Kaiba had insisted on both knowing exactly what was going on with his prognosis, and ignoring or defying it, the cancer was truly relentless. When Mokuba insisted on a hospice being consulted, Kaiba suprisingly let him. To see the thinning hair, the thinning body, the weary shadows that smeared those cerlian blue eyes was truly shocking. In the last few weeks, Kaiba had virtually coccooned himself away from the world, leaving his business decisions to be dictated by phone, or email, or to be carried out by Mokuba.  
It was obvious to even those who remained ignorant of his true illness that the dragon was losing his fire, to the point that not even Kaiba could ignore it, any more.  
It was at Mokuba's insistance- again! that he spend more time with his younger sibling, and devote his time to "deal with things that are bigger than Kaiba corps."  
It was another begrudging acknowledgment of his limited time-time that he was so used to funnelling into productive activity, producing results...something besides this forced waiting.  
So, here Kaiba found himself. Dying before he left his thirties. Leaving a fierce reputation in his wake, a multi-billion dollar company, and a broken hearted younger brother who he would give it all up for to keep that misery from wounding his eyes so much.  
He wasted little of his time acknowledging the looming end of his existence. Maybe it was beyond his limits, or his comfort to even ponder a world where he was not. But it hurt. And it made him so afraid.


	2. Brothers

It was the scattering gold of the curled, dying leaves outside his window that woke him. He watched in detached curiosity as they clung so tenaciously to the branch, only to be snatched by the wind and flung away despite of it. He smiled in spite of himself, as he wrapped his ever-thinning arms around his chest, and stared curiously at the soaring arch of blue sky. Autumn had come to Domino City unseasonably warm, only a few degrees cooler than summer, and the air was pleasantly crisp. He grimaced in acknowledgement of the pain, indulged in a grunt, and carefully flicked the release mechanism that would soon release the morphine he now needed to even live without hysterics of the bone-numbing sensation of the disease. His fierce pride refused to grant acknowledgement of even its existence, but there was little he could do, and at this point, he saw little point in suffering just for the hell of it.  
His eyes swept over the dark, plush room, the gleaming computer monitor still blinking in expectant welcome, his dark leather chair perched and waiting for his body, once he called the nurse to move him...and his day's work still sitting neatly in the stack where he had left it last night. He would have been content to simply lay there and watch the leaves drift so languidly about the wind...to lose himself in their sweeping arcs away, to wonder where they went, and how it might have felt to glide so freely.  
But the nagging sense of duty, and the precious, rigorous schedule he purposely maintained were demanding mistresses that would not be sated. And his work was the only distraction that even allowed him to feel productive, or even human. It was simply not in him to admit weakness, no matter how much Mokuba nagged, or how much his motherly nurse admonished him about"not pushing himself." He would only respond with a sneer, or a smile, depending on his mood, and shrug off the concern.  
He was startled out of his musings to hear a timid knock on the door, followed by Mokuba's soft inquiry, "Seto? Can I come in?"  
Seto hastily wrapped the bathrobe over his narrow shoulders, ran fingers through his hair, growled at how disheveled and wan he still looked, before he forced his spine to stiffen into its characteristic iron straightness. It was his only defense against appearing weak-the one thing he could not stand to show other people.  
"Come in, Mokuba." His gruff command was softened by a smile as Mokuba came flying in, his dark eyes glimmering with mirth, and his wild black hair pulled back into a ragged pony tail.   
Seto eyed the dark mass with a raised eyebrow, before gesturing rather pointedly to his own neatly coifed hair. As much as the Kaiba siblings loved each other, Seto could not, for the life of him, understand his brother's preference of shaggy, unkempt hair, hemp jewelry, or the jeans and long flannel shirts he wore.  
Indeed, the younger Kaiba had changed a great deal from the familiar youngster that used to follow him everywhere. When Mokuba entered the teenage years, he shot up several inches taller, and his face had lost the babyish roundness to reveal the striking high cheekbones. He still had the same dancing dark eyes, and the gruffly sweet voice, but he never lost his bright spirit, either.  
Now, Mokuba swept about the room, in the manner of an agitated bird, his dark eyes lighting with anger at the glow of the computer screen, his merry mouth frowning with concern to notice the shadows and the dulled blue of his older brother's eyes. Mokuba gnawed on the inside of his cheek, debating to say something, or not. He knew that Seto loathed being nagged, and he was no longer sure if the exhaustion that seemed to permeate everything his brother did was something that could be helped.  
"Good morning, Seto!" Mokuba forced the cheer as he carefully embraced his brother, mindful of how frail he had become. Seto stiffened, but allowed his arms to drop in a brief hug over his back, before carefully settling himself into the chair.   
"Good morning to you, too, Mokuba. I see you have your usual cheer." He groused affectionately.  
"Well, there's no point in deliberately being unhappy, is there?" came the smooth reply, as Mokuba gazed out the window. "It's a bueatiful day out, Seto. Are you feeling up to going downstairs today?" Mokuba turned a beseeching gaze at Seto, who in turn gestured at the ever mounting pile of paperwork waiting to be dealt with.  
"Mokuba, I have work to do, you know that." Seto's voice was softly apologetic, as he winced in pain and shifted in discomfort.  
Mokuba was at his side, instantly, careful hands draped over his bony shoulders, the concern and the love clear as he stared down at his brother. "Are you alright, Seto?"  
Seto blanched from the pain, hissed in breath,as he hunched down and waited for the pain to fade into a tolerable level. Mokuba watched helplessly as he closed his eyes, drew a shaking breath, his lips thinning to a line.  
"Seto! If you're in pain, do you want me the doctor? I don't want you to be in pain-"  
"Mokuba." Seto whispered his name barely above a breath, as he gazed up at his brother with anguish. "I am sorry, Mokuba, that you have to see me like this, and you know how much I hate to admit this.. I am dying, Mokuba. Pain is to be expected, however well controlled it may be. And you needn't concern yourself about things that cannot be changed...especially with this. Now, promise me you'll stop the damn worrying, and try not to wet yourself each time I blink too loudly, is that clear?"  
Seto forced a smile, as he ruffled Mokuba's hair in a familiar gesture of comfort. Mokuba snorted back a tear, as he stared down at his brother, whose face was now pinched with pain, no matter how fierce the denial. "I'll try, Seto. But I don't know if I can."  
Seto's cold hand gripped his own, the blue eyes burning with intense command, and sorrow.  
"You'll have to."  
Mokuba whimpered, but did not cry. "I know, Seto. I know. But not yet...not today."  
Seto smirked, considered him gently, as he nodded. "No, Mokuba. Not today. The morphine is finally working its magic." Seto said wryly, as his eyes strayed to the tubing. Mokuba felt his bodyuncoil itself as Seto lost that restrained, pinched look, and heaved a deep sigh of relief.  
"I'm glad." Mokuba whispered, softly, as he squeezed Seto's shoulder, with a smile.  
Seto clenched his hand over Mokuba's for a brief moment, before he pointedly removed the hand, and steered his little brother towards the door.  
"Mokuba, I need to get to my work. You know that."  
Mokuba glared at the pile of papers that Seto had turned towards, as Seto resolutely seated himself with finality.  
Mokuba sighed in surrender. "Fine, Seto, however you want it. But, I will be back, and you are going to join me for lunch. No arguments, either!"  
Seto gave his brother a tolerant smile. "Lunch it is, then. But a brief one. Be back here at noon. Will that work?"  
Mokuba nodded, silently, as he hesitated before exiting.  
"Seto?"  
Seto turned to him with a raised eyebrow in question.  
"I love you. You know that, right?" If Mokuba didn't know his brother any better, he would have sworn there were tears rising in the brilliant, cold eyes. Seto nodded, slowly.  
"I never doubted that, Mokuba. And it means more to me than I will ever admit. Now, please...let me get back to work." Mokuba closed the door, with silence, making sure that he was far enough away that there was no way for Seto to see his tears.


End file.
